Darwin Deez

Last night we played Spitalfields Market.

At the show, we met three girls who are friends with the infamous fan who painted Cole’s name on her belly at the Reading Festival (proliferated to cyberspace via NME). To even things out, Cole sharpied her name on his belly and posed for a photo.

Cole is still suffering from Australian Jet Lag. Conveniently, this also served as a perfect opportunity to continue my photo series about the food in band green rooms.

There was a wild after party that Darwin DJ’d at All Star Lanes. The next morning, Cole explained his jet-leg sensation to me, “I feel like I’m hung over all day. On top of that, today, I actually am hung over.”

Cole and I went shopping at Beyond Retro in Brick Lane. There we ran into the Indian girl who dances in this video.

Whenever we play a show, people ask us, often quite aggressively/persistently, for our clothes. People want Cole’s pink hat. They want my black t-shirt with the gold studs. It bums us out a little bit, because we have only three outfits apiece to our name, and must always say no. Somebody stole a beloved sweater of Cole’s at the Spitalfields after party when he set it down for a few seconds. We can’t help but speculate that our audience’s appetite for our wardrobe is taking a dark turn.

Darwin and I got lost on the walk home from All Star Lanes. We walked past the visually famous London financial building that I identify as ‘the crystal dildo’. I told Darwin a long story about how I slept in a church while I was in on break from tour in Brooklyn because my subletter was still sleeping in my bedroom. A mysterious saxophone player  would unlock and enter the church building in the morning and practice shirtless, and I would have to sneak out.

It was 2 a.m., and Darwin was exhausted. We were a few blocks from our flat when two ladies exited a cab and recognized him. One insisted that he call her little sister on the phone and talk to her. Darwin wearily complied. He’s a solider.